


A Box of Crayons, Neatly Opened

by Dareandwriteit



Series: Dadgnus and his detective son [5]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angus is bad at being a kid, Gen, Magnus is Angus' dad, Post canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-24 00:04:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13799169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dareandwriteit/pseuds/Dareandwriteit
Summary: Angus isn't sure how to accept gifts, or be a kid, or be someone's son.Some genius, huh?





	A Box of Crayons, Neatly Opened

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InterstellarVagabond](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterstellarVagabond/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Patterns of Migration](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10709301) by [goodnicepeople](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodnicepeople/pseuds/goodnicepeople). 



Angus was not used to gifts. There were not a thing he had really gotten before, not even at his first Candlenights with the Bureau. 

He wasn’t sure what the etiquette was.

Angus hadn’t been part of the Voidfish’s story. He prefered it that way. Having strangers know him, in the uninvited and personal way that people knew Magnus now, sounded dreadful. He liked to be an anonymous party. An unknown, someone who was unthreatening and unnoticed unless it was necessary.

The problem with being unknown was that people didn’t know what to gift him.

It was customary to tip “creatively” when ordering furniture or adopting a dog from Magnus. Money was meaningless to him, with every possible necessity taken care of. He saved the world: he would never go without clothes, or food, or warmth. He tipped generously, more out of an insecurity with numbers than some entirely selfless gesture. 

So people would gift Magnus with things other than money: new weapons, custom clothes, paintings of his stolen century, treats for the dogs. And Magnus would accept them graciously, always saying it was too much, always trying to make space and display these symbols of kindness. 

Sometimes, people would leave gifts for “Magnus’ son”. Angus didn’t feel right accepting the ones that were labelled like that, as though there was some phantom child of Magnus’ flesh and blood that he was stealing them from. He would unwrap the presents, say thank you and smile. None of them were really for him. They were for a little boy that was more Magnus’ son than him.

There were plenty of sports related gifts: footballs, helmets, knee pads, baseball bats. He’d liked the soccer ball that a monk who’d ordered a bow staff had brought. The dogs enjoyed it, and while Angus wasn’t exactly good, he could run fast and kick hard. Nothing else had really appealed to Angus, ending up on the pile of dog toys. (The knee pads turned out to be a popular chew toy.)

There were some combat related gifts, which Angus appreciated a little more. He was given a very loving recreation of Magnus’ silver shield etched with past battles, polished until it shone. Angus hung it up on the wall opposite his bed, woken by the sun reflecting off it early in the mornings. He would never say it, but it gave him an odd feeling of pride in Magnus that he wasn’t sure was earned. There were also swords and axes, things that Angus could still barely lift despite them being designed for someone his age. He used one vicious looking ebony handled dagger as a letter opener, but almost everything else was given away to passing adventuring parties.

The worst gifts were the ones Angus couldn’t conjure a good reason to reject. Things that were for children, and he was undeniably a child so he couldn’t turn them down. Skipping ropes and toy wagons and teddy bears. Things his face burned at the idea of owning these things - how _immature _of you Angus, how will anyone take you seriously when you’re being so childish. He shoved them under his bed, leaving a believable collection of them scattered across the backyard so not arise suspicion.__

__And that worked. Until someone gave him a box of crayons._ _

__“Can’t wait to see what masterpieces you come up with!” The client had said, pinching his cheek affectionately. Angus had taken it, said thank you and smiled. The usual routine, the familiar steps._ _

__And then, “I’ll be sure to keep an eye out when I come back for my commission!”_ _

__Angus’ smile cracked. Well. That was that plan goofed. Magnus didn’t seem to notice, helping the client wrap up their items and find their way to the door. Angus thought about “losing” the crayons while Magnus had his back turned. No. That would be ungrateful._ _

__He would just have to use them up._ _

__He took some spare sheets from Magnus’ workbench that night, after making sure he had permission to do so. He didn’t want to use his notebooks: that wasn’t what children used crayons on, right? They put them up on the wall, pinned them by their parents desks, according to what he’d read. So they needed to be on loose sheets, of a decent size. He quietly walked up to his room, and laid the paper flat across his desk. He placed his wand on one corner of the paper to keep it from curling, a faint sparkle of light emanating from it. Angus placed the box of crayons on the other corner precisely, ignoring the tear-open lid in favour of gently prying it off with his letter opener._ _

__Now. What to draw? What did children draw with crayons? What did children his age draw? Would a house be too simplistic, too babyish? If he drew Magnus, would that be too strong an implication? What if he drew Magnus badly? Would that upset him? Would it upset Magnus _not_ to draw him?_ _

__How did children enjoy this?_ _

__Angus sighed, his fingers hovering over the rainbow of colours. It was late, but even now he could hear the tell tale scratching of Magnus’ smallest dog pawing at the front door. The dog was a mutt, nicknamed “Goober”, who was an energy ball of wiry brown fur. He had taken to Angus, often curling up on Angus’ feet when he was reading or eating._ _

__Angus picked up a brown crayon. Even a bad drawing of Goober would be somewhat accurate._ _

__Angus’ first impression was that he didn’t like using crayons. The line they drew was huge, and difficult to wield. The wax pasted to the paper in clumpy inconsistent lines. No matter how careful he was, they looked undeveloped and messy. When he tried to add Goober’s big black nose the colour seemed to blend at the edges, and left a heavy mass on the paper._ _

__He finished the picture. He leaned back from his work, black crayon still in hand, assessing it. It was horrible. It looked like meaningless noise pasted onto the paper in ugly unfitting colours. A terrible sense of shame and embarrassment washed over Angus, making him feel nauseous. Without thinking, he scribbled over it in the black crayon, obliterating any trace of the drawing’s original subject._ _

__Angus took out a new piece of paper and tried again. And again. And again. None it was right. All of it had to be scribbled out._ _

__Magnus? Too lumpy, scribbled out. Merle? Skin too light, scribbled out. Taako? Ugly clothes, scribbled out. The dogs, scribbled out. The house, scribbled out. The moon, scribbled out. Kravitz, Lup, Barry? Scribbled out, scribbled out, scribbled out._ _

__Angus didn’t notice the sun rising. He was aware that his back was beginning to hurt from leaning over his desk, but had a job to finish so he ignored it. This picture was already beginning to slide into the uncanny, his glasses lopsided and smile too toothy. He picked up the black crayon again, now little more than a stub, and started to scribble it out._ _

__“Angus?” Magnus asked from the door. Angus sat up with a start, trying desperately to scribble out the picture as quickly as possible._ _

__“It’s… it’s nothing-” Angus began, trying to gather the pages up in his arms._ _

__“Why are you drawing the Hunger?” Magnus asked, more curiosity to his voice than malice.._ _

__Angus looked back at the sheets in front of him. He blood ran cold._ _

__An expansive black mass covered each page, the drawings it had overtaken leaving it speckled with red and gold and green. It was the most accurate drawing Angus had done. It made him feel sick._ _

__“I didn’t- I couldn’t-” Angus stuttured, pushing himself away from the drawings._ _

__“Do you… want to talk about?” Magnus asked, somewhat awkwardly._ _

__“N-no! There’s nothing to talk about! It’s… it’s just a mistake. I’ll get rid of it.” Angus said, trying to gather as much of the paper as he could from the desk._ _

__“It’s okay to talk about it, if you want to.” Magnus’ voice was gentle, and that only made it worse._ _

__“Stop it!” Angus snapped, rubbing at his face to stop himself from getting teary._ _

__“Stop what?” Magnus asked, genuinely confused._ _

__“Being nice!” Angus shouted. “I’m not your son, I know I’m not what you wanted from a little boy! I’m not like other little boys. I don’t like being a kid, I’m not easy to raise, and I’m so different from you and I’m trying to be like what your son should be but it’s so hard and-” Angus’ rant was cut off by Magnus holding him close._ _

__They stood in silence for a moment, Angus still enclosed in Magnus’ arms._ _

__“It’s okay Angus. I’m not mad at you. I’m not going to be mad at you.”_ _

__Angus sniffled into Magnus’ shirt._ _

__“We’re different. And while other people don’t know that, _I do_. It’s part of what makes you so special Angus. I don’t want you to be anything other than Angus McDonald, who I consider my son regardless of DNA and all that hokey science baloney.”_ _

__They stepped out of the hug, and Magnus picked up the box of crayons from the desk._ _

__“Y’know? I bet we could make some kick ass wax carvings out of these. You think I could make a whole bear out of the rest of the black crayon?”_ _

__Angus wiped his tears, and nodded._ _

__When the client came back, Angus gave them the little wax carving of a duck he’d made. He felt proud when they said he took after his father._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I wrote this for InstellarVagabond because they've been answering my TAZ prompts for a long time and really inspiring me to stay on top of writing. I love their writing so much, and while I'm not sure this is their jam, I wanted to give them something.
> 
> My tumblr is dareandwriteitdown if you want to yell about TAZ with me!


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